


It's Easy to Forget

by lionessvalenti



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, Babies, Emotional Baggage, Episode: s03e05 A Life in the Day, Gen, Gen Work, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 08:27:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13971192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/pseuds/lionessvalenti
Summary: Eliot keeps his distance with Rupert. Quentin finds out why.





	It's Easy to Forget

Eliot couldn't sleep. Of course, no one was asleep, because there was a two month old baby in the cottage, and sleep was a luxury achieved in twenty minute increments throughout the day, hoping it would add up to more than a few hours. But it wasn't just the sounds of Rupert's screaming as his diaper was changed. Eliot was too restless for his bed.

He got up and pulled on his trousers, but left his shirt behind. Even in the middle of the night, humidity hung in the Fillorian summer air like a cloud. There were spells for a cool breeze, for freezing water, but sometimes just being a little naked could help.

Eliot walked out of his bedroom and into the main room, where Quentin gently wrestled a very unhappy baby into a swaddling blanket. Arielle sat in a rocking chair by the fireplace, breast already out, and waiting for a baby to feed. The brightly burning fire than lit the room had been charmed to not give off any heat. It was a tricky charm, and one they'd never be able to use next year when Rupert was walking -- the fire burned the skin just as quickly, but with no warning as you approached it. It would be a disaster waiting to happen with a baby.

"Sorry," Quentin said, looking up from his task for only a second.

"It's fine," Eliot replied eyeing Rupert for only a second. "I couldn't sleep anyway. I think it's too hot. I'm going to go work on the puzzle. Clear my head."

Quentin nodded quickly. "Let me know if you need any help."

"Will do." Eliot walked out of the cottage and the air was thick as expected, but surprisingly pleasant compared to the inside. He lit only a couple of the torches, the moon bright above him, and got to work. 

Sometimes, the mosaic felt like a chore. It was an overbearing waste of time, that had to be pulled up completely after each failed attempt in back-breaking monotony, and Eliot was often certain that it would never end. Other times, it was zen. Nothing else but the task in front of them, put together piece-by-piece, in quiet reprieve from the kingdom in Eliot's future, and the pain in Quentin's past.

That night, it was the latter. Eliot blocked out the sound of crying baby (that, unknown to him, would fade once Rupert was being fed), and put tiles into place. 

After an hour or so, though it felt like no time at all, Eliot got up to get a drink of water from the rain barrel. The water in Fillory was sweeter than water of Earth. Maybe it was the lack of pollution, or the opium in the air, but for all the things Eliot hated about Fillory, this was one of the things he loved.

Splashing some water down the back of his sweaty neck, he heard the sound of the cottage door opening. He glanced over his shoulder at Quentin. "Baby asleep?"

"Finally," Quentin replied. He picked up the cup and got his own drink. "You don't have to run off, you know. Arielle doesn't care if you see her boobs, and we could use the help. I mean, maybe I was wrong, but I guess I thought you wanted to help."

Eliot _had_ wanted to help. He'd been nearly as pleased and excited as Quentin and Arielle were during the pregnancy. But something changed after the birth. Eliot couldn't quite place it, but he hadn't held Rupert for more than a few minutes at a time before handing the baby off to one of his parents, and definitely turned away when Quentin and Arielle got too cuddly with him.

"Someone has to keep working," Eliot said, not looking at Quentin. In fact, he very much wanted Quentin to go away. To go to bed with his wife and let him work on the puzzle in peace. "I'm not blaming you, but we can't stop just because you had a baby."

"No, I, uh, I get that. And I appreciate it." Quentin placed his hand on Eliot's arm. "I do. But I guess I thought we'd be like a family. The four of us. It's hard work, but having a kid is great. Don't you want to be part of that?"

Eliot wrenched his arm away. "I already have a kid. I _have_ a kid and I didn't get to do any of this shit. No diapers and bonding. I don't even know her. She was taken and raised by fairies and then I sent her off into the city with _Todd_ like she was nothing." He brought the heels of his palms up to his forehead and squeezed his eyes closed, but a few tears leaked out anyway. " _Shit_."

"Fuck. Eliot, I..."

"Forgot?" Eliot dropped his hands and turned to look at Quentin. Despite the tears, his eyes were raw and scratchy and everything was a little blurry around the edges. "Yeah, me too. It's been so fucking easy to forget. And then I saw you two with Rupert and -- I never got to hold my daughter. I never even saw her until I'd already missed it. And I didn't think it was important enough to care about until it was too fucking late."

He slumped down against the barrel and covered his face. He didn't want to cry, not in front of Quentin, or anyone, but there was no stopping it now. He was sobbing worse than the baby, with big gulping breaths, and Quentin next to him, making soothing noises.

Eliot thought of Fen lugging around that log wrapped up in a blanket, and he'd felt such pity for her, but never paid her enough mind to be worried. Now, he understood what she was trying to accomplish, and how much it had _hurt_ , and the way it had been easy for her to believe Fray was their daughter. Eliot still wasn't sure if Fray was legit, but she was the closest thing he had, and now they were both too far away to reach, to ever _know_. He didn't even know he had missed them, and that made it worse.

"It's stupid," Eliot mumbled, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. They'd both had their share of breakdowns over the last few years, but this might have been Eliot's first that included sobbing and a complete lack of composure.

"It's not stupid," Quentin replied. He wiped Eliot's wet cheek with his thumb. "It's harder and harder remember anything from before you know?"

Eliot knew. "I don't want to resent your baby because I didn't get a chance to be a shitty dad."

"You're not a shitty dad."

Eliot rolled his eyes in Quentin's direction. He could have been mean, pushed Quentin away further until no one wanted him to be in Rupert's life at all, maybe even casting him back to Earth, but he didn't want any of that. He wanted to stay. He wanted to be part of this family. "You don't know that. We may never know that. And you're just saying that because _you're_ not a shitty dad."

Quentin smiled. "I've only been at it for two months. I've got a lot of time to screw him up."

"You won't."

"God, I hope not, but time will tell," Quentin said with a little smile. He motioned at the torches and they extinguished, leaving a smoke hanging thick in the air, before he took Eliot's hand and helped him to his feet. "Let's get some sleep. Rupert will be awake in about two hours. And then maybe we can find out what kind of dad you are. And when we go back--"

"I can't think about that. It's too weird. We have too much here to think about what ifs. Not until we finish what we started, you know?" Eliot wrapped his arm around Quentin's shoulders and pulled him close. "But, thanks, Q. I needed... this, I guess."

Quentin smiled, and they walked back to the cottage like that, not letting go of each other. "You can always talk to me. Anytime."

Eliot relaxed. "I know."


End file.
